


the steep sky's commotion

by ac_MaryAgnes



Series: Can Spring Be Far Behind? [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family Feels, Family of Choice, Gen, Harry has to make a choice, Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter, Sirius Black Lives, Unlikely Friendships, many letters, mild Ginny/Draco if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ac_MaryAgnes/pseuds/ac_MaryAgnes
Summary: Vaulted with all thy congregated mightOf vapors, from whose solid atmosphereBlack rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!Sixth year





	the steep sky's commotion

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on fifth year. I've really struggled with this one, so I hope what I've got so far holds up to expectations. More will be added to this as it comes. 
> 
> As ever, this is unbeta'd.

The boy who might be Harry Potter sat on the bench in the garden of the Burrow with the man he’d just discovered wasn’t actually his father. The night was a clear one, every star shining down on the tumble of weeds and bramble, and the spring air was cool against his skin. He felt… numb. A little confused, as was to be expected, but mostly just numb.

“I… I don’t know what to do.”

Michael – Severus – swallowed and kept himself from shifting. He had said so much this evening and he wasn’t quite sure what should come next.

Beside him, the boy looked from the stars to his hands, long fingered and pale. “I want to wake up in my bed and think this was all just another weird dream. But… the idea of going back, of pretending I don’t know what you did…. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what to call you. Are you my dad? Or… did you kidnap me? What…. I don’t know.”

Severus took a slow, deep breath. It was far more painful than he’d ever expected, hearing his son wonder if he was even his father. “Legally, according to the muggle world we’ve lived in for the past fifteen, almost sixteen, years – you are my son. It is on every document, to include your birth certificate. But the wizarding world… they would have a different opinion. In order to hide us, I had to remove and alter multiple legal documents, which is… technically… illegal.” Beneath his palms, the old wood was soft and cool, worn with age. It helped ground him when all he wanted was to find a Time Turner – undo everything – and once again run away into the night with his son. “Regardless, you are the most important part of my life, away from any prophesy or whomever that man wants you to be. I want you to be happy and safe, above all else. I will protect you, and I will support you in whatever you decide.” Severus swallowed again before continuing. “You know the Weasley’s will always open their door to you, and were they in their right minds, Mr Lupin and… his companion would be overjoyed to have your company in their home. Your mother deemed Mr Black your godfather, once upon a time.”

“He was my other d – He was James Potter’s best friend, Professor Dumbledore said.”

Severus pulled his lips between his teeth and nodded, but said nothing. He wanted, so much, to tell the boy every nasty thing James Potter and Sirius Black had ever done to him – every ‘harmless prank’, every petty inconvenience, every evil – wanted to tell the boy those things to bring him home. But that wouldn’t be what Lily would want. And since the beginning, Severus had always strived to do what Lily would have done. Her son deserved to uncover the nature of his biological father – especially from those who knew him better than Severus did – and form his own opinions based on what he found. It was so hard – so very, incredibly hard – but he loved his son and wanted only the best for him. That included being the best father, which meant letting his son come to his own conclusions.

The boy ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it a bit at the ends, and let his arms drop back down heavy to his sides. “I need to think,” he finally said. “I think I need to think a lot. I… I don’t want to go with Mr Lupin or Black. And… I don’t think I should go home yet.”

Severus squeezed his eyes together and nodded once. He could feel his face pinching and wondered in the back of his mind where all his spy skills went. He used to be so good at hiding his feelings. Not with his boy, apparently. “I’ll confirm with Mr and Mrs Weasley that you would like to stay here for a time.”

“I… Yeah. I’ll, uh….” John Henry took a shuddering breath, green eyes unseeing on the ground before him. “I’d like to stay out here for a little while, by myself if it’s all the same.”

“I understand.” Severus stood, though his knees threatened to buckle. His feet felt so heavy, pressed down to the dirt under his shoes. He remembered being a young father, the unbearable pressure of grief and loss, of not knowing what to do or where to turn, and this felt very much like that.

“Please,” he burst out, a final desperate plea, “remember I love you. Whatever else you believe, whatever decision you come to, I will never stop loving you as the son you are to me.”

* * *

Narcissa sat at her desk, sequestered in her chambers in Malfoy Manor. Her chin was resting in her palm, shoulders hunched as she contemplated the parchment in front of her, letter folded into a tidy square. Only her sister could inspire such an uncharacteristically unladylike position from her. At once incredibly complex and perplexingly simple, Belletrix Lestringe was… Belletrix: the one, the only; ever more exactly as she was when they had been children.

And she wanted Narcissa to dedicate her son to a madman.

For the betterment of Wizarding Kind. To prove how naturally superior pure-blooded magic was. To further the Black family name. For fame and even more fortune than they already had.

To bow forever to a megalomaniac who thought enslavement and genocide was the latest fashion.

But Narcissa didn’t bend a knee – not to anyone. Not her sister, not her husband, not Dumbledore, and certainly not to the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort. And she refused to show her son any different.

Setting the missive aside, Narcissa pulled forward a fresh sheet of parchment. She straightened her spine, carefully dipped her peacock feather quill into her signature lilac ink, and set about writing the only person she knew of who might have a better idea.

* * *

_Michael Stevens,_

_My son tells me you no longer go by the name I remember. I find this a shame for yours was truly one of great esteem and fond remembrances. It also brought to mind a brilliant master of your chosen craft. From what I understand, you have continued at least a portion of that craft into your new life. This brings me joy as I would hate for the world to lose one so masterful as you._

_Forgive me if I seem vague. I have reason to believe this letter might fall into untoward hands and am unsure exactly what sort of action those hands would take. From what I understand, transport to your direct location can be bothersome, and so I must settle for even addressing this note to your general area._

_I have been informed of a tidy little park not far from your residence. I will find my way there in three days time and do kindly request for you to join me in an afternoon stroll. I have a personal quandary I wish to receive your council on. I look forward to seeing you and remain,_

_As ever,_

_Lady Malfoy_

* * *

_My Lady Malfoy,_

_As glad as I would be to meet with you, I am unable to do so at this time. You are more than welcome to find your way to the park you mentioned, and it is a truly lovely spot, however I will not be available to meet with you._

_My deepest apologies,_

_M Stevens_

* * *

Narcissa frowned. The scrawl on the letter was shaking and splotchy. His response was both frank and vague at the same time. But she really did have to meet with him, so this simply would not do.

“Kreacher,” she called softly over her shoulder. The old elf appeared with a quiet pop, already bowed low.

“Yes, Lady Black Malfoy. Kreacher is here.”

“Get my son for me. I have a question he needs to answer.”

“Of course, Lady Black Malfoy. Kreacher is most pleased to do this for his Lady.”

A knock came to her door soon after the house elf’s disappearance. “Mother?”

“Come in, Draco my dear.”

The heavy wooden door ran over the plush carpeting as her boy swung it open. It closed softly behind him, but her attention remained on the letter before her as he made his way to her side.

“What is it, Mother? Was Father able to send us a letter?”

Narcissa’s face pinched. “No, dear, not yet. I had a question. You spent time this winter with Mr Stevens, at his home and his work. Would you be able to accompany me to his residence?”

Draco frowned. “You… would like to go to a muggle village?”

“Hardly. However, I require the assistance of Mr Stevens. He will not come to me, so I must go to him. I was going to give him three days, but I imagine tomorrow would suit my purpose better.”

“I… Yes, Mother. I can take you there tomorrow. Is everything alright?”

She schooled her features into a charming smile, turning her face up to her sweet, golden boy. “Yes, dear. Everything is fine. If all goes the way I imagine it will, you’ll be able to spend your summer at his residence, just as you asked.”

Draco looked unsure for a moment but nodded all the same. Regardless of what his father was up to, his mother would only ever act in Draco's best interest. “I’ll be ready whenever you are, Mother.”

* * *

The village in Wales was… quaint. If Narcissa were a lesser woman, she’d wonder if she were overdressed for the whole affair. But with the ease of years, she moved with confidence beside her son as they walked down the street. Those that stared must simply have never seen a lady of good breeding before.

In defence of the general populous, it should be stated that Narcissa was dressed in a manner befitting her station and position in _wizarding_ society. They actually never _had_ seen a lady like Narcissa Malfoy before.

The jaunt to the shop was a quick one – Mr Lupin and his dog were at The Burrow for the day and unaware that their home was briefly invaded. Draco had written ahead to the youngest Weasley to ensure their safe passage, and that they’d be able to lock the door after them using the spare key kept above the front door mantle. But they made it to the shop without any issue.

The building her son guided her to was dark, as was the apartment above. A blue and white sign hung in the window – Sorry! We’re Closed! – and a rope blocked off the stairs around the side to the upper floor.

“Mum, I think we should go,” Draco murmured, fingers tightening around her elbow. A cold chill swept through Narcissa, a sense of foreboding following quickly after. But there was no reason for the feeling, none other than the man inside. A discrete flick of her wrist unlocked the front door. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Narcissa pushed inside. Behind her, Draco made an aborted sound of warning but followed her into the shop all the same.

At a worktable in the back rooms, Severus Snape was hunched over, head buried in his arms. The blinds were all drawn shut, plants and tools strewn about haphazardly. At their entrance, his dark head shot up, black eyes wide in his pale, drawn face. His expression quickly shuttered closed, however.

“Lady Malfoy,” he grizzled, voice raspy and harsh. “I told you I couldn't see you.”

“I’d apologize for the intrusion, Mr Stevens, but the matter is rather important. Draco, dear,” she turned to her son. “Would you mind giving me some time?”

Draco frowned, but bowed and made his way into the larger room out front. He couldn’t help but sneer at the mess around him, but said nothing to the man slumped in the dark.

Narcissa waited until she was sure her son wasn’t listening in before continuing. “I need you to keep Draco for the year. Possibly longer.”

“Pardon?”

“This business that Lucius has gotten himself involved in. It seems my sister has gotten it into her head that Draco would succeed where his father did not. And they want to make a murderer out of my boy in the process. I’m sure as a parent yourself, you can understand my hesitation.”

Severus sighed and resisted the urge to bury his head back into his arms. “Lady Malfoy, I’m not exactly in any sort of position to be offering protection for wayward students. You have another sister, don’t you? One you could go to?”

“Andromeda, for all she has abandoned our way of life, has not hidden herself or her family as you have. To place Draco under her care would only make it easier for Bellatrix’s friends to…” She could hardly even speak it, the mere thought of them putting their hands on her son struck her so.

Severus swallowed and tried to find the right words to make her go away. “He still won’t be safe here. I can’t even keep my own so- couldn’t even keep… and how would I explain it, anyway? He couldn’t possibly pass for some sort of family member. And he’d have to go to school, but seeing as there are only Muggle schools here-“

“He’d still attend Hogwarts, naturally. Dumbledore might stumble on oh so many things, but the sanctity of his school is undeniably paramount to him. However, during breaks and holidays, Draco would come here. You’re the only one who I know will keep my son absolutely safe."

Severus shook his head, eyes casting about as he mentally scrambled. Empty glasses and vials and dirt littered his normally pristine workspace. He could hardly think straight – even the simplest extraction proved difficult since… since June. “Narcissa, I can’t keep him. The Weasleys did a fine job, or some other person, but I-“

“Mr Stevens.” Draco appeared at the workroom doorway. “I’ve heard some things from the Weasley’s. Things about your son.”

Severus curled in on himself. His chest hurt and his were clenched so tight he could hardly feel his fingers. He'd heard nothing for weeks, and this boy - for whom John Henry cared so little - knew more about him than the man who raised him. "How?"

“Ginny said he talks about you all the time,” the boy continued, heedless of the look his mother was giving him. “That he misses you and his home and friends. He’ll probably be looking to come home soon, according to her. But what I’m offering is… well, if I’m here and he still hasn’t reached out to you, you can still know how he is.”

“Draco,” Narcissa gasped. A hand flew up, delicate fingers pressing against her neck. “You are no messenger boy. And writing that Weasley girl-“

“We can talk about that later, mother. Mr Stevens?”

Severus closed his eyes, lids pressing tightly together as he tried to focus. For the first time in years, Lily’s choice was lost to him. Fifteen years of diligently attempting got act and do as she would have done, and now he stumbled. He forced his hands to loosen and the shock of stiffness and painful return of blood flow helped clear his mind a bit. John Henry was the one who mattered now, his wishes alone. “John Henry wouldn’t appreciate being spied on. Not even remotely. As much as I appreciate the offer, Draco, I’d have to decline.”

Draco nodded. “I can understand that. However, I have a need. Or at least, my mother does; and it seems as if you have one, too.”

And what had Michael been teaching his son all those years? To reach out to those in need, to think outside of himself; to be better than Severus and James and all the rest.

“I need to think,” he said after a moment. “If you stay here, I won’t have you spying on my so- on John Henry. He deserves more than that and your mother is right: you are not anyone’s messenger boy.”

Draco shrugged, hands indolently in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe. “Perhaps I could be of service in some other capacity – I’ve always done particularly well in potions, as it happens. And it certainly looks as though you could use some help around here.”

* * *

“So… what do we call you?”

The Boy Who Lived and might’ve been Harry Potter leaned back on the bed Mrs Weasley was letting him kip on and sighed. “Harry feels wrong. I like my name – John Henry. It’s the only name I’ve ever known, you know?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I can’t think of you as a Harry. You’re just… not a Harry. You don’t look like one or anything.”

The black haired boy looked up with an incredulous frown. “And what would a Harry look like?”

Ron shrugged and picked at a stray piece of parchment, crumpling it idly into a ball. “Probably some paunchy, windbag of a fellow. A real tosser!”

The parchment hit John Henry square in the face. “Hey!”

A pillow launched in Ron’s direction and the rest of the conversation was lost.

* * *

_Draco,_

_I’ve been practicing that play you mentioned in your last letter with the twins. They’ve been here for the last few days because they kind of blew up their apartment in Diagon Alley (they weren’t too clear on that), so they’re back home until it gets cleared out. Anyway, the trick play is kind of working out but there are some issues I’m still having. I wish you were here so you could see exactly what we’re doing wrong._

_Anyway, mum says those poncy house elves of yours probably aren’t feeding you properly and that you should come to dinner some time soon. I told her their whole job is to make sure you are fed properly, but you know mum. She even wanted me to include some fudge or something with this letter! As if. Sorry, but if you want Weasley sweets, you’ll have to come and get some yourself._

_I told John Henry about you staying with his dad for breaks and holidays. He’s still a little weird about the whole ‘is he my dad or not?’ thing. But he seemed… I don’t know. A little jealous? That you got to be there and he wasn’t. Which is stupid because if he wanted to go home, he could. It’s his choice to stay here, and he could easily choose to go home. Honestly, I kind of wish he would. It’s been getting a bit windy in here, what with all the despondent sighing that’s been going on._

_Dumbledore’s been coming by nearly every day to talk to him, which… I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, if John Henry really is Harry Potter, it’s important for him to know what he’ll be up against if he fights Mouldy Vouldy. And if anyone can help him get ready, it’s going to be The Great Albus Dumbledore._

_On the other hand, Dumbledore has been getting really… pushy. I haven’t sat in on those conversations – that would be **totally** against the rules * **eyeroll** * - but I can tell you without a doubt that our dear Headmaster has been trying really hard to make John Henry go with him on some weirdo niffler hunt. It would pull him out of school, but beloved John Henry likes school, the knob, and says he has a future he won’t throw away. _

_I however have no such compunctions. Wanna go niffler hunting?_

_Gin_

* * *

_Ginny,_

_Let your mother know to expect me for dinner next week. I'm just getting settled in at the Stevens' but by Thursday next, things should be calmed down enough by then. I expect to take fudge back with me after dinner._

_Niffler hunting is exactly the sort of thing my family would hate me doing. We know absolutely nothing about whatever it is the old coot wants John Henry to find, so I suppose we’d have to bring that awful brother of yours and the Granger girl in on it, too?_

_Sounds horrid._

_Draco_

* * *

_Draco,_

_What a fantastic idea. I knew I kept you around for a reason. Hermione, Ron and I will start researching right away. I’ll get back to you soon with what we find._

_Gin_

* * *

_Ginny,_

_I thought you kept me around for my sparkling personality and stunning physique? And to think, all this time you were only using me for my brain._

_You wound me, madam._

_Draco_

* * *

_Draco,_

_Oh, get over yourself, you giant codpiece._

_Gin_

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm being perfectly honest, I wasn't expecting Ginny to take up the fight like that. I've been pulling my hair trying to write even this small chapter, and suddenly Draco was saying that he and Ginny were sort of friends and she was writing him about John Henry and deciding to go on her own adventure and would Draco like to come? So that was sort of surprising.
> 
> Also, Severus might be a little too open with his emotions in this. I'm not sure. It might read oddly, and for that I'm sorry.


End file.
